


an act of grief

by abigaylefayth



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: (mentions of john b and pope), Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, i love these two with my whole heart mkay, just a lil mature, not super smutty at all i promise!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:34:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24432913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigaylefayth/pseuds/abigaylefayth
Summary: In the wake of John B's death, JJ and Kiara find solace in each other's arms.set immediately after season 1
Relationships: JJ & Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 274





	an act of grief

**Author's Note:**

> whoo boy, this baby was definitely not supposed to be this long. but the more i wrote, the further it ran away from me so here we are 10k words and lots of unresolved tension later. absolutely frickin' loved these two from the moment they were introduced. couldn't wait to write them together.
> 
> and hey, special shout out to beedee (peterstank) for betaing this and being the biggest support system despite having yet to watch the show (wtf beeds, seriously watch it.) also throwing a big thank you to the absolute sunshine that is ella (lila-bard) for cheering me on as i wrote it.
> 
> anyways, i hope you guys enjoy the absolute mess that is jiara xx
> 
> (ps. for ultimate experience, i recommend listening to wait by m83 closer to the end. trust me.)

The realization that not all of them had family to go home to came later.

The night had blurred together in flashing lights and tears and hugs that choked the breath from their lungs. Kiara barely remembered her parents removing her from the desperate embrace of her friends and ushering her to the family truck. She’d barely heard the engine hum alive, barely listened to the quiet murmurs as her parents tried to comfort her from the front seat. 

When they’d driven down empty back roads, rain beating relentlessly against the windows, she’d thought only of John B; Of how it was that exact rain, that exact _damned storm_ , that had swallowed him whole and hadn’t even had the decency to spit his body back out. She’d barely registered pulling into their driveway, and couldn’t even muster the strength to protest when her dad had opened the back door and hauled her into his arms. She’d only curled into his chest when he’d carried her inside the way he always had when she was a little girl clinging to his shirt, spent after a long day.

And maybe she had been. It’d certainly felt like it, anyway. Each thought crashing against her skull repeatedly, nearly causing her to keel over and release whatever contents of her stomach she’d managed to get in herself that day. 

_John B’s dead. Sarah’s dead. John B’s dead. Sarah’s dead._ Over and over and over it had gone. Relentlessly, tirelessly. An incessant, _painful,_ mantra. 

So yeah, it hadn’t been until Kiara exhaustedly clicked her bedroom door closed and sunk slowly against its wooden paneling, eyes dry and stinging in the wake of long-gone sobs, that she was fully able to wrap her head around what had happened. 

And it was then that she found her mind drifting to JJ.

She realized he was alone. No John B. No Chateau. No fucking place to go besides back to the house he’d never really truly thought of as home. 

And she thought, _Oh my god._ She thought, _where is he now?_ Because surely he couldn’t have gone back there. Not after stealing the keys to the _Phantom_ and leaving it stranded to its watery death. His father… _God, his dad would kill him for real this time._

The revelation stuck in her mind like an icepick chiseling at her nerve endings: JJ was by himself. And _none_ of them deserved that. Too much had happened for them to be allowed to sit and fester in their own minds. They all needed _somebody_ to lean on because… because well, shit, they were all only _sixteen._ And despite just how much she knew JJ was forced to grow up at a young age, just how much he constantly put on a brave face and said _I don’t need your damn help,_ it was all just that: a brave face. A facade to protect himself. 

Kiara knew that beneath his roughened and cocky exterior, JJ was more damaged, more _fragile,_ than anybody she’d ever known. She’d felt it when he’d trembled against her chest just a few short days prior. The realization had ripped at her insides when he’d clutched desperately to her arms and cried _I just want to do the right thing!_

_Jesus._

They all loved John B like family, but it was different to JJ. She knew that their friendship was the longest and most reliable thing he’d ever had in his life. 

_But now he’s gone._

She hadn’t even thought it was possible to cry anymore, but fresh tears began to flow down her cheeks, the sobs racking her body and causing her to shake violently against the door. 

_John B’s gone. He’s gone and he’s never coming back._

She would never get to see his annoying grin again. He would never feel the sun on his face, the ocean waves beneath his board. He’d never get to return home, hair salt-crusted and skin sun-baked. She’d never look out the windows of The Wreck and notice him waving from the HMS Pogue, there to whisk her away on some god awful fishing adventure with her boys. Her pogues. 

She thought she could choke on her tears as they fell faster, harder, the taste of salt and _sorrow_ thick on her tongue. 

_Fuck!_ She wanted to scream it. Yell it out loud. Let it rip its way from her throat and be carried by the night wind. _Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Would her pogues crumble in the absence of the very person who always kept them together? Would she lose Pope? Would she lose JJ? She couldn’t even bear the thought of it. Because those boys… they were her family. 

And though he would never admit it aloud, one of them needed her. She’d failed John B, but she refused to fail the others. 

_JJ, where the fuck could you be?_

None of them deserved to be alone. She didn’t care if her parents freaked out at her absence, they’d all been through far too much to be forced away from one another in the wake of all that had happened, all that they’d _lost._

With trembling hands, Kiara wiped desperately at her tear dampened cheeks. She forced herself to stand despite the hollow feeling in her chest. She quickly threw a hoodie on over her rumpled clothes, shoved her feet back into her beaten up sandals, and then slipped out of her window and back into the night. 

  
  


+++

She found him, of all places, in the boneyard. And she was entirely surprised to find that he had absolutely no booze on him: just a dead stare out into the churning sea, blonde hair whipping around his face as he sat on fallen driftwood slumped over his knees. 

She didn’t dare speak a single word as she approached, afraid to scare him off by coming on too strong—JJ could be skittish when it came to affection. But she knew he felt her presence. It was evident in the way his slumped shoulders straightened ever so slightly. The way he tore his hand through his hair and then brought it back down to desperately ring the old battered ball cap clutched in his other one. Over and over and over, the bill bending and folding, bending and folding, bending and folding.

When she stood close enough to notice his own tear stained face, he shifted over slightly on the rotted wood to make room for her and she knew. She knew it was as much an invitation for comfort as she would get from him. 

So she sat. They sat. Neither of them saying a single word, just listening to each other’s breathing and watching as the waves crashed against the shore. The rain had ebbed to a sprinkle, the storm moving further away and dissipating out into sea. 

She wanted to wrap him in her arms. Place her head on his shoulder. Touch her fingers to his. _Something._ Anything to prove to him that she was there for him, that he could let himself go in her presence. That he didn’t constantly need to stand up straight under the weight of the world. 

And she’d be lying if she said _she_ wasn’t yearning for the comfort of physical contact. That _she_ didn’t want to feel his warmth against her side just for some sort of semblance that _she wasn’t alone._ That her grief was shared and that she could find solace with him. But he only sat there next to her, inches apart but not a single bit of skin touching. He sat there and he breathed—long uneven breaths as if he were trying to keep the tears at bay, as if he was fighting some kind of war on the inside of his mind. And not for the first time, Kiara found herself wondering what the hell exactly went on inside of that brain of his. She wanted to ask— _jesus,_ she wanted to shake him and try to get _something_ from him. 

But that wasn’t how JJ Maybank worked. If he wanted to let you in, he would. And it was a miracle he’d even invited her to sit next to him in the first place. 

So they sat there. And they breathed. And they watched. 

Until finally, a broken whimper escaped the back of his throat and he keeled in over himself, bending over his knees and clutching at his hair like a vice. The sound tore at Kiara’s insides and it was all that she could do to keep from making one of her own. 

“ _JJ,_ ” she whispered. And it had been the first word she’d said to him since being in his presence once again. Her fingers twitched at her side, desperately wanting to reach out and grab at one of the hands that were entangled in his blonde mess of hair. 

He sat back up and looked at her, irises swirling with torment and pain and anger—so much anger it nearly choked her. 

“It doesn’t feel real.” His voice came out like gravel. Desperate and dry and thick with emotion. 

A sharp intake of breath had her mind reeling. “I know,” she said. Fresh tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

 _God,_ did she know. How could it feel real? Just this morning she’d felt the strength of John B within her arms. Just this morning she’d watched as he waved from the steering wheel of the _Phantom_ and disappeared into the marsh. 

Just this morning, she’d thought that he had made it. That they’d jumped the hurdle. That against all odds, they’d outwitted their enemies and that he was going to be home fucking free. 

She couldn’t help it, she reached for JJ’s hand and grabbed desperately at his ringed fingers as if the very act was the only thing keeping her tethered to the sandy beach beneath her feet. And when he didn’t instantly yank it away from her, when he only grasped back at her sweat dampened hand and intertwined their fingers together, she had to fight the tears from falling harder. 

Because there they were, two kids sitting on an abandoned beach in the dead of night after a fucking _storm,_ roughly clutching at each other’s hands as if the connection itself were their only lifelines. Because John B was gone. John B was _dead,_ goddammit. 

The world was a fucked up place.

For a while they continued to sit in silence, fingers desperately intertwined, listening to each other’s uneven breaths and both of them slowly growing more damp as the unending drizzle fell from the sky. Neither of them minded, though. At least, she didn’t _think_ JJ minded. 

This was the most quiet she’d ever witnessed him. Usually he’d voice his discomfort as soon as he was placed in any minor inconvenience, the drama king he was. But no, he stayed quiet next to her, his chest rising and falling softly and his jaw tight with whatever emotions were swirling in his mind. Every so often, she would notice that he’d squeeze his eyes closed—almost as if he was trying to fight off a bout of sadness. When that happened, she found herself instinctively tightening her hold on his hand. As if she could physically hold him together with just her sheer will and the feel of her fingers in his.

Eventually the drizzle waned out completely, and she found herself mesmerized by the way the rain droplets stuck to the ends of his hair. Her eyes followed where it fell at the nape of his neck, curled around his ears, and flopped over his forehead—a sign of how frequently he had run his hands through the disheveled tresses. The red ball cap was abandoned on the driftwood beside him, and Kiara found that she was glad for it. Which was odd, really. She’d never cared much about JJ’s hair before but sitting there next to him in the low light of the moon, it looked beautiful.

She swallowed thickly and turned her gaze back out into the ocean. _What the fuck?_ she thought, shaking her head minutely as if to clear it of thoughts that had no business being there in the first place. _Where did that come from?_

But if JJ had noticed her watching him, he said nothing. Instead, he stood suddenly, and pulled her up behind him. 

“Let’s go,” he said. His jaw was working beneath bruises and barely healed cuts. 

“JJ, what—“

“C’mon Kie,” he began to walk toward the treeline, still clasping her hand in his and pulling at her to follow him. “Did you drive the jeep here?”

“Yeah, but—“

“Gimme the keys, I’ll drive.”

The determined look on his face barely gave her time to dry her tear streaked cheeks. “What the hell, JJ. Where are we going?” 

He turned toward her then, blue eyes flashing with emotion Kiara didn’t dare to decipher. But when he opened his mouth, his voice was soft. “Just trust me, Kie.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding reluctantly, “Okay, I do.” And she pulled the car keys from her short pocket and placed them in his roughened hand. The free one—they hadn’t let go of one another. Neither of them wanted to. 

He nodded back at her, his expression unreadable. 

“Okay.”

+++

The Chateau was dark and silent as they pulled to a stop in front of it. Remnants of the week's events littered the lawn like fractured memories, bleeding into the backdrop of the inky night. The Cat’s Ass sat empty in the yard; hollow lights strung haphazardly in the trees. The porch door was left ajar, the furniture strewn about and trash littered everywhere from previous meals that had been left uncleaned. 

Kiara and JJ sat quietly in the dark of the jeep, neither one having the courage to get out or to even voice what it was that they were both thinking; how ironic that a place that had felt like home for so many years—memories filled with laughter and light and love, so much love—could bring such a suffocatingly hollow emptiness to the pits of their stomachs. 

“Home sweet home,” JJ muttered from the driver’s seat, referencing the day’s earlier near identical situation. Except this time, it packed more of a punch. This time, when JJ turned his sardonic half smile towards Kie, she felt her breath be sucked clear from her lungs. 

Her heart felt like lead in her chest. “Why are we here?” she asked weakly, nearly choking on the words.

“You know how much weed I have stashed in this place?” _Do you know how many memories are stitched into these walls?_ “I needed to stop by and get it before Shoupe and his men start packing shit up.” _I needed to see it one last time before everything else is taken away from me._ “Plus, might as well use you for help, right?” _I couldn’t come back here alone._

She could read the message behind every word he said, every carefully constructed facade as they fell from his lips. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “Then let’s go get your damn hooch.”

Even in the dark, she could tell that the slow smile pulling at the corners of his mouth didn’t quite reach his eyes. She wondered how long it would be until any of them could offer a genuine smile again… if any of them could ever even feel _happiness_ again when they all knew John B never would. The thought was an arrow that tore through the walls of her heart—sharp and painful. 

They both clambered from the beaten jeep and made their way onto the porch, stepping over crumpled beer cans and around abandoned empty pizza boxes. The amount of times she’d scolded the boys to clean up after themselves were lost in memories of shrugs and lazy half smiles and the rolling of eyes as they called her ‘mom’. 

_“Yeah, whatever mom.”_ John B would say, exchanging glances with JJ as he’d take a long drag from his joint. She’d never hear him say those words again. 

“Fuck. Hey, Kie, shhhh. it’s okay.” JJ was in front of her, hands laying gently on her trembling shoulders. She hadn’t realized she’d started crying again. He must have heard her breathing shorten into spurts as he’d walked in front of her, leading the way around the porch. “Listen, if this is too much, you can wait in the car.” 

His words were genuine, but his eyes were pleading. _Please don’t leave, I need you here with me,_ she knew he was saying. Though he’d never grovel at her over it. She’d learned over the years that JJ liked to need people as little as possible, take up space as little as possible, instead smothering everything inside with a suggestive quip or goofy comment. 

“No,” she replied fiercely, wiping at the stubborn tears tracking down her cheeks. _God,_ she was tired of crying. She thought she might have cried more in the past few hours than she had in most of her life. 

“Okay, then maybe stop with the emotional bullshit?” he said, one corner of his mouth curling up. “I don’t particularly feel like acting as the group shrink.” 

An exasperated groan made its way up Kiara’s throat as she shoved at his shoulder. “You’re such a jackass, JJ,” she told him, but there was no real heat beneath her words. She knew him rather well, after all. And when JJ was in pain, he did one thing best: _Deflect, deflect, deflect._

“The very best, Kie.” And he winked at her before turning around and pushing into the Chateau’s rusty swinging door. 

In the dark, she could just barely make out the messy pull-out mattress she’d crashed on enough times to lose count. Sometimes with Pope tangled up in the blankets next to her, other’s with JJ passed out, simmering roach abandoned next to his face. It’s presence brought a lump to her throat that she tried desperately to swallow back down. 

She agreed that she’d had enough of _the emotional bullshit_ , though standing in the dark surrounded by the memories did little to help. If she squinted just slightly, she could make out the ghost of John B lazily slinking from the hallway scratching at his bare chest and releasing a yawn so mighty she would joke about being able to smell his breath from across the room. It was a scenario that had played out more times than she could keep track of, morning rays streaming through the tattered blinds and the sound of seawater sloshing against the marshy shore from out back.

Kiara blinked several times, feeling her eyes sting from tears she refused to let fall again. Instead, she moved forward and pushed past JJ’s lean form.

“Where’re the fucking candles?” she asked aloud, not really expecting an answer from her annoying friend. It was more just a way to fill the stifling silence that had wrapped itself firmly around the room. 

“Here,” JJ said. 

She heard the faint sound of metal clinking against metal and then suddenly the room was filled with the dim flickering light of a lantern. She turned to find it clasped in JJ’s hand, the dull glow causing his messy hair to cast shadows over his eyes. Somehow, the faded bruises along his jaw seemed to deepen in color, and paired with the sharp lines of his face, it made him look almost menacing. 

Kiara suppressed a shiver that she felt tingle at the nape of her neck. JJ was… odd, she thought. Unpredictable. One moment he could be relaxed and easygoing, spewing half thought-out bullshit from his mouth, Juul fitted firmly between his lips and leaning casually against a wall or slouching into a chair, the next his blue eyes would harden like diamonds as his muscled body pulled taut with anger, jaw clenching and throat working as he tried to restrain whatever angry thing he wanted to yell out into the world. And his restraint never lasted for long. 

His moves were always passionate, never thought out. He’d throw himself headfirst into any situation if he thought it would benefit him, even if the consequences undoubtedly outweighed whatever benefits he saw. Most of the time it was infuriating. Like with the loaded glock he’d idiotically carried around in a bag, there for any cop to pull him aside and haul him off to a holding cell for possession of a firearm. But other times—well, Kiara may have thought that JJ was undoubtedly the most unpredictable of the boys, but he was also admittedly the one she trusted most. With her life, that is. She’d never confide in him about something that had settled heavy on her mind, but if she had to choose somebody to bring as backup into a dangerous situation? She had absolutely no doubt that he would have her back. 

JJ Maybank would set fire to himself if it meant keeping his friends warm. And Kie saw that in almost every reckless action he took. Yeah, he had the tendency to be selfish to a massively irritating fault, but in the very same breath, she couldn’t deny the fact that he was also just as self _less_. 

She knew he wasn’t one to let people in easily—had been at the brunt end of his attitude for far longer than she thought she had the patience for way back when—but once he did, once he opened himself up and allowed bits and pieces of himself to be seen, there was no way he’d let them go. In that way, he was like an annoying stray kitten. One that’d hiss and swipe at whatever ounce of affection was shown toward it, but would eventually grow to love and bond so fiercely that nothing could separate it from your side. 

“You simping for me, Carrera?”

A disgusted noise released itself from the back of her throat at the sound of his facetiously self-assured tone and the sight of his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. She hadn’t realized she’d been staring. 

“Because it’s totally alright if you were,” he continued annoyingly. “It was bound to happen at some point, ya’ know, and honestly if you’re down for a little—“

“Jesus, just shut the hell up,” she said, face twisted into a scowl, her miserable swirling feelings momentarily forgotten in the midst of her newfound annoyance. That’d be the _last_ time she let herself think good thoughts about JJ Maybank in his presence. 

“Oh my god,” JJ smiled as he lazily threw himself down onto the worn armchair sitting adjacent to the pull-out mattress, “You were simping for me.”

“I was not _simping—“_

He let out a low whistle. “And _lying_ about it, huh? Oh for two, Kie, oh for two.”

“I will not hesitate to murder you.” 

“Now that’s not very _kumbaya_ of you, is it my little activist.” 

She picked up a crumpled pillow from the mattress and chucked it at his head. He caught it easily, a breathy laugh escaping between his upturned lips as his eyes met hers. In them, she could see a little spark of the old JJ and for a moment they were just themselves. JJ and Kie. Bickering in the living room waiting for Pope or John B to wrestle their way out into the small space and attempt mediation. 

But once the thought of John B breached her mind, the small smile fell from her lips and the floor seemed to momentarily drop from beneath her. _He’ll never be there to mediate again_ , her mind said. It made her want to curl in on herself. 

JJ must have sensed that her mood had taken a right turn toward the worst because suddenly he was rising from the sofa chair and stretching his arms to his sides as though he were a lazy feline. 

“Beer,” he grunted, before moving past her and into the open kitchen. 

“Do you really think that’ll help anything?” 

He tossed her a look over his shoulder that seemed to say _Are you kidding me?_ before opening the fridge and pulling two glass bottles from within. When he handed one to her and slumped back down onto the chair, pulling his Juul from his pocket, Kiara felt her eyebrow raise in question. 

“I thought we were just here to grab your stash.” 

“You’re right. Weed would make this better, wouldn’t it?” he said, glancing up at her through half lidded eyes. He was too pretty for his own good, she thought. All toned muscle, sun-bleached hair, and swimming blue eyes that the tourons always seemed to get lost in whenever he deemed them worthy of putting the moves on. If she was honest, he’d actually been the first of the pogues that had caught her attention.

Then he’d opened his mouth, spewed some idiotic BS about—well, was there really anything that JJ said that _wasn’t_ bullshit? The point was, he’d ruined the pretty face for her rather quickly. She’d grown used to its presence because every other part of him was just so obnoxiously _JJ_ that she had no other option. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna give that a hard pass,” she snorted. She gave in and lowered her body to rest itself on the arm of his chair. For some reason, she didn’t feel like being too far from him. Maybe it was the gaping hole she could feel to the depths of her soul, but really, she just wanted to feel a warm body in close proximity to hers. “I’d rather not deal with a crossfaded JJ tonight.”

He smiled a conceited smile around the top of his beer bottle. “Dunno watcha’ mean, Kie. Crossfaded JJ is the best JJ.” 

She wasn’t sure which she preferred more; the grieving JJ she’d seen on the beach earlier, or this JJ. The one who was all easy smiles that didn’t quite reach his ruddy blue eyes and quips that were laced with false cheer. Not for the first time since befriending him, she wanted to know why he couldn’t just be _real._ What was the real JJ like? Who did he hide behind the jokes and the smirks and wall he’d built so tightly around himself she wasn’t sure how he could even breathe? 

They lapsed back into silence. JJ puffing on his Juul and occasionally taking a shallow sip of the cheap watery beer he held in his hand. She’d yet to take a sip of her own, being too afraid to let her mind blur to anything less than perfectly sober. She could tell that JJ wasn’t really feeling the drink, either. That he probably only got them out because he wanted to feel something solid between his fingers. As if the bitter liquid held within jaundice colored glass could act as a pillar. She didn’t blame him. The few moments they’d clutched at each other’s hands back at the boneyard had been the most secure she’d felt since Pope’s arms had been wrapped around her beneath a white tent surrounded by the SBI.

She wasn’t sure if it was that the solidness felt grounding or if it was the fact those two boys were the only ones who could truly relate to her grief—to the thorns that had felt like they made a home in the pit of her stomach, tearing her insides apart with every crashing thought, every miserable reminder that _not all of them made it out on the other side_. 

Some side it was. No money. No justice. No John B or Sarah. It was absolutely _fucked._

“He asked me if I wanted to stay with them.” JJ said eventually, staring blankly at the wall across from them. His eyes zigzagged across the textured paper, focusing and unfocusing as if his mind was working a mile a minute. 

“Huh?” Kie asked him. Her own gaze was firm on her lap. On the free hand that was clenched between her thighs and the still-full beer bottle held in the other. 

“Heyward. He asked me if I wanted to stay with them and I told him no.”

She jerked her head up to look at him. “Why would you do that?”

A scowl curled at his lips. “I’m not a fucking charity case.”

“JJ—“

“No. Don’t _JJ_ me. I can’t deal with being reprimanded n’ shit right now.” He met her dark gaze with his stormy blues, almost as if he was challenging her to push at him more. Maybe he _wanted_ her to. Maybe he liked the fight. But if she was honest, she wasn’t even in the mood to _do_ the reprimanding, so she decided to let it slide.

“Not what I was gonna do, asshole. I wanna hit your Juul,” she said instead. 

“Oh? This one?” He held the Juul in question in the hand that sat opposite her place on the arm of the chair, waving it teasingly. One look at his face told her he was up to no good. “Come get it, Little Miss Ghandi.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “First of all, Ghandi was totally racist and misogynistic, don’t ever compare me to him again.” She ignored the way he rolled his eyes at her. “And second of all, don’t instigate something you won’t win.” 

The smile he fixed her was laced with dynamite; mischievous and filled with unspoken promises. For a brief second she regretted ever playing into his little game, but then again she was never one to back down from a challenge. Especially not ones made by JJ Maybank. Somebody had to keep him in line, right? 

She made a swipe for it, lunging forward and nearly toppling into his lap. But the bastard had quick reflexes and moved his arm out of reach just in time for her fingers to barely graze the warm metal. 

His eyes were filled with mirth when she narrowed her own on them. Then he shook the Juul between his fingers teasingly and waggled his eyebrows. If it hadn’t been such a rarity on a day like that one, her fingers would’ve itched to slap the shit-eating grin that made home on his face. Instead, she found herself noticing the single dimple that creased his right cheek. She’d never realized before just how adorable it made him look. Instead of the hard angles often found when looking at him, it made him seem almost soft. Childlike. Innocent. 

But JJ wasn’t innocent, even in the slightest. And suddenly she knew exactly what to do to be able to get the Juul from him. She really didn’t even want to hit it all that bad, if she was being completely honest. But she _did_ want to win, no matter how small the victory might be. 

Kiara feigned a sultry pout, blinking her lashes once or twice at him and jutting out her bottom lip. His eyes narrowed at her in suspicion, just like she thought they would. So before he had a chance to say something idiotic or mildly annoying, she slipped from the place she rested next to him and directly into his lap. 

“Wha—“ he stuttered, eyes widening and arm instinctively curling around her hip—the one that held the Juul in its grasp. 

_God_ , she thought as she plucked it from his fingers, boys were _so_ predictable. Show a little feminine dominance and they instantly became putty in your hands. 

She put the Juul between her lips and took a long drag. Even in the dim light of the lantern, she could see that his eyes followed her every movement. She watched as his tongue darted out to graze across his lower lip.

“I win,” she said smugly.

His mouth kicked up on one side, “No, actually,” he said, tightening his grip on her waist. “I think I did.”

She snorted, pushing at his chest. “You’re such a frickin’ pig.”

When he oinked at her in response, mimicking the grunts of the animal she compared him to, an exasperated laugh burst from her. Which in turn caused her stomach to drop slightly when suddenly she remembered that _John B would never be able to laugh like that again_ and she felt selfish for even smiling when he couldn’t. 

Was it fair? To be joking around in the wake of his death when he’d never get the chance to do it again? When he’d never be there to cheer her up with his brotherly teasing or smile back at her when a stupid fight turned into a mini slapping match with both of them turning their hands toward the other and blaming the impact on a mosquito? 

God he could be so frustrating sometimes. _Could be_. _Was._ Past tense terms were all they’d be able to use from now on when talking about the guy who’d always been there for her. The realization shredded through her insides as if a machete was piercing her intestines over and over and over and _over_

_and over and,_

The pressure returned to Kie’s chest then, twice as suffocating as before, and her eyes began to sting. She squeezed them together tightly, unable to help the fresh tears that began to well in their corners. 

_You will not cry, Kiara. You will not fucking cry._

JJ shifted beneath her as she heard him set his beer aside and placed both of his hands firmly on her hips. The pressure of his fingers twisted into the fabric of her sweatshirt forced her eyes open to meet his, and for a moment she was thrown by the fire she saw in them. Fire that was mixed with grief. And understanding. 

“You know I was just fuckin’ around before, right?” he said softly, which was in itself a contradiction to the fierceness she saw looking back at her. “You can cry, Kie. I don’t mind.”

At that, a broken sob escaped the back of her throat and it was as if the floodgates had opened. _John B is dead. Sarah is dead. John B is dead. Fuck!_ The mantra began its course again, pounding against the inside of her skull. Her tears began to run thick down her face.

Shoulders trembling, she barely felt herself as she collapsed against JJ’s chest. His arms immediately came up to circle her into his warmth and she was surprised to find that he, too, was shaking against her. 

“Fuck. _”_ His voice sounded wrecked. Broken. ” _Fuck,_ Kie. You’re tearing my heart out right now, you know that?”

She buried her face into the crook of his neck and murmured wetly against his soft flesh, “I don’t even know if mine’s there anymore.” And she didn’t. Her chest felt completely empty—hollow and aching and fucking _empty_.

She didn’t think it was possible—he was already squeezing her half to death. Almost like he was trying to morph them into one single being—but his arms squeezed her tighter. And in the background of her pain she was vaguely aware of one startling thought: That JJ Maybank’s arms wrapped around her somehow seemed _right._

Which was odd. Crazy. _Out-of-this-world, certifiably batshit._ Because out of all of the pogues, JJ was _never_ the one she’d been most affectionate with. Hell, she could probably count on one hand the amount of times she’d even _hugged_ him. And the same could be said about him for her. He was always showing casual physical affection toward John B (she flinched at the thought of his name) or Pope—wrapping an arm around their shoulders or even occasionally smacking a loud kiss to one of their cheeks—but with Kiara? The extent of how they touched expanded to playful shoves and haughty half-assed smacks. That was it. 

Why the hell had she never tested it out before? Why’d she have to wait until such devastating circumstances forced it to happen before realizing that JJ’s arms were possibly the most comforting place in the world? Strong and solid and warm—she felt like she was cocooned in safety. Like nothing could touch her even if they tried. 

And shit, that was straight crazy talk. He was _JJ Maybank_ for fuck’s sake. Her most annoying and frustrating friend. The one who hit on her far too much and laughed way too loudly and brought in far more trouble than she’d ever wanted to find herself in. But sitting there, in the warmth of his arms as they both trembled against one another, she realized that _not even Pope’s embrace had felt this way._

And for some reason, she thought, _go fucking figure._ Because John B and Sarah were gone and earlier that day she’d kissed Pope—which, by the way, she _still_ didn’t have a solid explanation for—and the world seemed to be going to absolute _shit_ , but there she was contemplating why the absolute hell JJ’s arms felt like home. 

Like _home._

His rough hand began to paw through her curls, and something inside of her melted. It was a little hesitant in its pursuit—almost as if he wasn’t sure he should be doing it—but when she responded by nestling further into the crook of his arms, the caress became more confident. 

“I know,” he murmured into her hair. His voice was thick with grief. 

She picked her head up from his shoulder and looked at him then—really looked at him. The faded bruises that scattered up his jaw and along his right cheek bone. The split lip he’d received from Barry. The sharp angle of his brow bones and the contradictingly soft slope of his nose. The way his blue eyes shone brightly in the dim light, glassy with his own unshed tears. This was a face she saw so often she knew it like the back of her hand. 

And yet somehow, seeing it just then, it felt different. He looked intriguing. Handsome. _Addicting._

_What?_

The hand that had been entwined in her hair before rested gently on the slope of her shoulder. His face was close enough to hers that she could feel the shallow puffs of his breath butterfly across her lips. Something inside of her chest expanded at the feeling. Her heart, maybe. She’d never been this close to him before.

It equal parts thrilled and terrified her.

Kie noticed his gaze drop to her mouth for just a nanosecond before flicking back up to her eyes. His pupils were blown wide, irises a blue deeper and more stormy than she’d ever seen them before. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss him, she thought. Drown out the suffocating feelings she felt tight inside of her chest with the feel of his lips beneath hers. 

But that would be a horrible idea. Right? To kiss _JJ_ of all people? 

His hand moved from her shoulder to her cheek. And it was almost as if he hadn’t realized he was doing it until his thumb began to swipe the fallen tears beneath her eyes. His nostrils flared slightly, taking in a deep breath and then parting his lips in a slow exhale. Their chests were rising and falling in an odd synchronization, bodies fit together tightly. 

Was the space between their lips growing smaller? Did he realize that the hand on her cheek had begun to shake?

_Did she know what she was getting herself into?_

She closed her eyes tightly, feeling herself release a trembling breath. _John B’s dead. Sarah’s dead. John B’s dead. Sarah’s dead._

Her head was pounding.

_JJ._

“Take the pain away.” Kiara choked on the words as they came out. 

She was too afraid to open her eyes to see his reaction, but she felt his shocked release of breath on her cheek. 

“What?” It sounded strangled.

She clenched her hands into his t-shirt where they rested on his shoulders, the action somehow giving her the courage to open her eyes. He was looking at her wide eyed, the blues of his irises nearly swallowed completely by his pupils. Her heart raged inside of her chest, her head a mess of swirling chaos—filled with sorrow and confusion and _pain. So much fucking pain._

_John B’s dead. Sarah’s dead. John B’s—_

“ _Please.”_

“Kie, I don’t— What are you asking?” He sounded desperate.

She searched his eyes, but they were carefully guarded. Not revealing any emotion besides his confusion, grief, and possibly a little arousal. Which she couldn’t really blame him for. She was straddling his lap, after all, and he was _JJ._

Fuck, what _was_ she asking him? 

_Stop thinking._

Her lungs felt as though they couldn’t expand beneath her ribcage—her chest tight and breath shallow. 

_John B’s dead. Sarah’s dead._

“Kiara—“

_Make it go away._

She surged forward in a burst of desperation, swallowing his gasp with her lips. He was still against her at first, stiffening beneath her and dropping the hand on her face to his side. But when she didn’t back away, when she pushed his mouth open with her own, he finally began to move. 

_Oh,_ did he begin to move. 

He crashed his mouth forward and more firmly onto hers, sliding both hands up either side of her waist and yanking her closer to him. She gasped into his mouth when they collided roughly, her heart wild against her chest. 

_Yes,_ she thought, catching his bottom lip between her teeth. 

He released a low groan and tightened his hold on her. Drinking her in, pushing past her lips with his tongue and deepening the kiss. His mouth was fervent against hers, hands roaming everywhere—pulling and tugging at her sweatshirt where it tangled in his hands. 

She pulled back, JJ growling low in protest, and yanked the sweatshirt over her head. His eyes were wild when she met his gaze. Roaming over her face, her swollen lips and her mused curls. 

“Come back here,” he said. And then yanked her back to him. 

Without the sweatshirt she could feel the rapid beating of his heart against her breastbone. It beat in tangent with her own roaring pulse as they continued to swallow up the space between them. Which, there was none. They fit together like words within quotation marks. Life bursting between markings the way it was rattling Kiara’s bones and begging to be released from her chest. 

“ _Fuck.”_ She wasn’t sure which one of them said it, but it was whispered against lips. Swallowed in the next moment.

“ _JJ.”_ She whimpered when his mouth broke from hers and began to travel along her jawline. His wet lips trailing the length of her exposed throat and causing goosebumps to rise along her skin. He smiled into the crook of her neck when she shivered.

“God,” he said. “You smell so good. You always smell so _fucking_ good, Kiara.”

 _Kiara._ Not Kie.

“And you always smell like sweat and salt and axe body spray.” She gasped when he nipped her shoulder. 

“Take that back.”

Her head lolled to the side. “No.” 

This was crazy, right? She was losing her absolute mind? They were mourning their best friend’s death and there they were going at it like their world wasn’t falling apart. Like the past week hadn’t been absolute hell. Like John B and Sarah hadn’t just been swallowed by sea and storm. 

But wasn’t that exactly what she wanted? To forget?

A small voice whispered in the back of her mind. _What the fuck is going on?_ it said. 

_Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up,_ she told it. She didn’t want to think. She _couldn’t_ think. Not with JJ’s mouth suckling gently on her pulse and causing her heart to beat frantically inside of her chest. Not with JJ’s calloused fingers skimming the exposed skin where her shirt had ridden up. Not with _JJ’s touch_ filling every empty space in her mind and leaving it a jumbled euphoric mess. 

“You have no idea,” he said, lips moving against her throat, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

Something about his tone caused her to still. 

It shouldn’t have felt so odd for him to have said that. He’d always been transparent about wanting to get into her pants, right? He was _JJ._ The same annoying friend who chased after any human with two breasts and a heartbeat. It was why she’d kissed him in the first place. Because she knew it wouldn’t _mean_ anything. Because she needed a _distraction_. 

But somehow, she could feel the depth beneath his words. Beneath his gruff whisper and trembling hands. Somehow, it seemed like he meant _more_ than the offhanded flirting he pestered her with on a day-to-day basis. 

JJ lifted his mouth from her skin and removed his hands from where they had begun to creep beneath her shirt. “ _Shit_. Okay, so that came out wrong.”

Her chest tightened again. _John B’s dead. Sarah’s dead._

_Make it stop._

“It’s fine.” She rocked forward on his lap and closed the distance between their mouths again. When she felt his sharp release of breath on her lips, a pleasured zing shot up her spine.

Their lips just barely touching, foreheads resting gently against one another’s, he thrust up shallowly beneath her. Almost as if he couldn’t help but do it. He was hard, she knew. Could feel him between the layers of their clothes. She rolled her hips again, the feeling sweeping her mind dizzyingly and lighting her bones.

_Yes._

“ _Fuck,”_ JJ hissed against her lips. “You’re gonna have to stop doing that, Kie.”

She did it again, swallowing his choked groan with her mouth in a lazy kiss. 

“What if I don’t want to?” she whispered. 

He pulled his head back, eyes searching hers. “You sure?”

Was she? 

_Stop thinking_ , her mind begged. _Make it go away. Make the pain stop._ She wanted—god, she wanted to _eviscerate_ the grief that had settled low in her stomach. She wanted to erase its existence with physical contact. With lips and teeth and skin. With devouring touch and the numbing clash of mouths.

She could do that with JJ, she knew. And it wouldn’t mean anything because he was _JJ_ . One of the biggest players on their side of the island. She could drown in him. _Use_ him. He could make her head stop pounding and her mind quit screaming _._

_John B’s dead._

“Just for tonight.” 

A single nod. “Tonight.”

She thought she could read something else in his expression. Something dark and sad. But then he closed the distance between them once again and she couldn’t _think_ anything. She could only feel. His hands sliding beneath her shirt, his mouth moving vigorously against hers. They were rocking against one another where they connected at the waist. And she wanted this so _badly_ , she realized, that she thought she might pass out. 

JJ’s arms tightened around her as he stood in one swift motion, bringing her up with him. Their lips were a ghost’s breath apart as he swiveled to the left and settled her gently onto the pullout mattress. 

She yearned to feel the hard length of his body against hers. She wanted his warmth to tether her to this moment and never let her go. She wanted and she wanted and she wanted so badly for him to _make it all stop_ , make it all _go away._

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, I’ll make it go away.” And she realized that she must have said the last of her thoughts out loud. 

But if she did, why wasn’t he moving? Why was he only kneeling on the mattress in front of her while she stared owl eyed up at him from where he’d sat her down? 

She twisted her fist into his shirt and yanked him forward. Pressed her lips into the crook of his neck and had to stop herself from breathing him in. His pulse was heavy beneath her mouth, his skin hot to the touch. 

“God, Kie. I—“ he choked on the words, like they physically hurt coming out. She couldn’t stand it. She just wanted silence. She just wanted touch. Friction. Skin on skin oblivion. She wanted the painful throb in her head to _go away, go away, go away_.

“JJ?” she whispered against his neck, strained. 

“Yeah?” he murmured in reply. 

“Just shut up and kiss me.”

“Right.”

And so he did. With all the fervor one would expect from JJ Maybank. The sensual slide of his tongue against her bottom lip as he coaxed her mouth open sent a light shiver down her spine, and even with everything going on, every miserable thought she was sure was going through both of their minds, she felt his mouth grin against hers at the feel of it. She only responded by nipping at his lip and deepening the kiss, pushing her tongue into his mouth and losing herself in his taste. In his scent. In his touch. 

A low growl released from the back of his throat, and suddenly he was on her. Above her. Pushing her down onto her back and settling his weight exactly where she’d wanted it. _Where she’d always wanted it_ , she found herself thinking but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what part of her mind it had come from because it was _JJ_ who was making her feel this way. _JJ_ who was sliding his calloused and bruised hands along the seam of her t-shirt and sending waves of pleasure down her spine. _JJ_ who had broken away from her and was greedily leaving wet open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and down her neck. And _fuck_ , she gasped aloud when she felt his teeth nip lightly at her ear. 

JJ Maybank was making her mind spin on its axis and somehow it felt right. Somehow it felt _real._

He was everywhere. Tasting of beer and memories and the vaguest hint of marijuana, but she didn’t care because the pressure, _god_ , the suffocating pressure that she’d felt on her chest ever since the news about John B and Sarah had dropped on them like a nuclear bomb was finally lifting and it was as though, as though she were _flying_ , and

and,

And _this_ was exactly what she wanted. She wanted to drown in his touch. She wanted to lose herself in the feel of his body moving against hers. She wanted and wanted and wanted so goddamned badly to erase the events of the past few days completely and it was as though the caress of JJ’s hand, the roughness of his mouth, the smell of salt and sweat and ocean, was the only cure. The only amnesic salve to give her exactly what she needed. 

His body was rough against hers as clothes were shed, but when finally, _finally_ , they were skin against skin, heartbeat against heartbeat, his words were soft puffs of breath. He was murmuring in her ear quietly as he moved against her, inside of her, all the fuck around her, but she didn’t know what he was saying. She couldn’t make out the words as his lips brushed against the thundering pulse at her throat. Hell, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he himself didn’t even know what he was saying, they were entirely too lost in one another.

She wrapped her legs around JJ’s narrow hips and pulled him closer as he moved. The groan that he released in response was swallowed by the loud pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. The blood rushing in her veins. It was as though she were hyper aware of every little thing, his touch making her dizzy with need and pleasure and lust. His calloused hands ghosted across her skin, lighting her bones aflame and causing stars to burst behind her closed eyes. 

When he began to move faster, pleasure licked up her spine and settled hotly in the pit of her stomach. Their skin was flush, burning between them. The friction intoxicating and soul devouring and _everything_ Kiara had wanted—everything she’d _needed,_ really. 

And she never wanted it to stop. 

She could live in this moment. Wanted to use his body and his mouth as a drug that would take away the pain and leave her wasted with need. She wanted to _forget._ To burst into flame and to soar through the wind and witness the feel of a supernova exploding in her stomach. 

She wanted all of that. And _god,_ was he giving it to her. As he thrust, as he suckled on her pulse, as he filled her completely and wholly and in more than just a physical fucking sense. He was in every crevice of her fractured mind, mending the splintered structure of her heart with his quiet words against her mouth, and she didn’t even _care_ that it was completely out of character for him. She didn’t _care_ that she never would have guessed such tender touches could come from such a roughened and broken boy. 

They hurdled over the edge together. Breath ragged in the air they shared and hands clutching at any skin they could get a hold of. She raked her nails down his back and cried out as she came; his name like a prayer on her tongue. 

It was then she realized that being with JJ—the euphoric feeling in her stomach, in her chest, in her numb limbs—felt oddly similar to surfing. To when a particularly good wave would break and she was momentarily enveloped into its barrel, the sunlight fracturing through the frothy water and onto the wet curls that plastered her cheeks. It was a moment that always caused her heart to grow inside of her chest, feeling too large for its rapid beating to be contained. It was a moment that always felt quiet and peaceful and _right._

_Being with JJ felt right._

She dismissed the thought as soon as it entered her mind.

They stilled against one another, breathing raggedly as they caught their breath. JJ sighed into her neck—a contented puff of air against her heated skin.

“Who gave you the right to feel that damn good, Kie?” he said, moving his nose tenderly across her skin. 

She giggled girlishly as she slapped at his shoulders. “Shut up.”

He lifted his head from her shoulder and looked at her with a cheeky grin. His hair was plastered to his forehead in sweat, disheveled in the back where she must have ran her hands through it. She could see where her mouth had left marks on his throat, where her nails had run across his shoulders. He looked ridiculously disheveled, ridiculously fucked, ridiculously _cute._

“I’m serious,” he said through his smile. “Never cum that hard in my life.”

“ _Jesus,_ way to ruin the mood.” She hated that she could feel her cheeks warm. He was JJ. _JJ!_ Of course he’d make crude jokes, it’s just how he was. 

“JJ’s fine, Kie. No need to preen me.”

She shoved at his shoulders. “Get off, weirdo.” 

“Dunno,” he replied. He rolled his hips, emphasizing where he still fit inside her. She sucked in a sharp breath, another bout of pleasure curling low in her stomach. Held his gaze in retaliation. “‘S pretty comfortable in here. Warm.”

“Oh my god. You’re insufferable.”

“No, I’m JJ. Thought we already established that?” His smile was all mischief. Lazy and sideways and full of deeper meanings. “I mean, you really loved calling it out when I was—“

She shoved him harder this time. He laughed as he pulled out and slumped beside her, blonde hair flipping into his face and momentarily hiding the dimple that Kiara had decided she sort of, kind of, really had a thing for. 

But then he stiffened, and Kiara felt dread pool in the pit of her stomach. 

“Fuck. _Fuck.”_ His voice was suddenly frantic. “We didn’t use a condom, Kie. _Shit._ I never forget to wrap it up. I’m so—“ 

“Dude. Chill.” She curled onto her side to face him, ignoring how weird the casual platonic term felt coming from her mouth after what they’d just done. “I’m on the pill.” 

His shoulders relaxed. “Damn, Kie. Gettin’ some action?”

“No, dumbass.” she huffed at him. 

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation now. Of the way they’d immediately reverted back into their old bickering selves. It should’ve relaxed her—it’d been what she hoped for, right? Exactly what she’d expected of having sex with JJ. He was _easy._ Easy to be around, easy to joke with. But something about it didn’t sit right with her. Somehow, it felt like at least _some_ part of their dynamic should have changed. 

Or maybe she was just a sap. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for casual sex, let alone casual sex with one of the _pogues_. 

She cleared her throat awkwardly when she noticed he was studying her, a single blonde brow raised in question. 

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she bit out, trying to put some venom behind her words in an attempt to cover her confusing thoughts, “but it’s really just to regulate my periods.” 

“Huh.” JJ flipped over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. “So protection from being implanted with devil fetuses is just a plus, then?”

An exasperated laugh burst from her chest. “ _Devil fetuses?”_

“I said what I said.”

She rolled over onto her back as well, pulling the disheveled sheets up to her chest. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Yeah.” She watched as he smiled up at the ceiling. It was a quiet smile, one she didn’t think he realized she noticed. One meant just for him. 

She decided she really liked it. 

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “I wasn’t joking about the stash I have here.” His smile turned wicked as he turned his head toward her again. “Should I roll us a blunt?” 

She smiled back at him then. And for the first time since the world had come crashing down around them, it felt genuine. 

“Hell yeah.”

+++

By the time they’d curled together on the old broken-down mattress, it was well past three in the morning. 

Their minds numb and limbs loose from the marijuana, they’d talked and bickered and joked. They’d avoided any conversation about the week’s events or the devastating circumstances that’d brought them together. They’d made out for a few more minutes, limbs angled awkwardly around one another and teeth clashing in lazy kisses. And then they’d laughed about how awkward it was now that the desperation was gone. 

JJ was all soft smiles and wicked smirks. Belly laughs and idiotic jokes. _Normal._ He was normal. And she was glad for it—no really, she _was._ She definitely hadn’t noticed how his eyes seemed bluer than she originally thought. She hadn’t noticed that whenever he’d make some ridiculous quip, high off his mind on his cousins ‘dank nugs’, he’d laugh at his own jokes in this really adorable way. And she’d _never_ admit aloud that the sound of his throaty laugh had caused an inexplicable group of butterflies to take flight in her stomach. 

No ma’am. She was 150% unaffected. He was just JJ. She was Kie. And they were friends who’d really only used each other to lessen the horrible grief that had rooted itself into their stomachs. 

So when he’d flopped back onto the more-than-slightly bowed mattress, claiming to be completely spent, she hadn’t even protested. Hadn’t fought him when he’d tugged her down to his side, buried his face into her neck, and then promptly fell asleep. 

Because they were friends, obviously, and even though he’d never done it with _her_ before, JJ was known to be an affectionate sleeper. Really, she lost track of the amount of times she’d have to yank him and Pope apart, always curled together in the hammock or legs sprawled across one another on the floor. Their bromance could undoubtedly be nauseating at times, though it did warm her heart every time she witnessed it.

So yeah, of course she’d allowed it to happen. And if she’d been kept awake by the feel of his even breath stirring her loosened curls, if she’d listened to his steady heartbeat and found that it was the most calming sound she’d ever heard, if she’d ran her finger softly up the curve of his muscled arm—

Well, that was really only her business, now wasn’t it.

**Author's Note:**

> playing around with a possible follow up chapter, so if you wanna see what happens next don't be afraid to like, comment, and subscribe! ;)
> 
> you can also find me on [tumblr](https://maybanqq.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/maybanqq).


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